Saturday, 27 August 2011

It's no use making the korero about the new booze laws which these parliament jokers have been talking about for weeks, because all the papers have had the fair go and the Maori has not had the chance to say his opinion on these matters. I meet a mate o mind the other day and we got talking about this and that and one thing and another. He ask me what I think 'bout the whole plurry business. I tell him that the booze business has been going on for years and years.

There are always people who don't like the waipiro and other coots who like the pot now and then.

I tell him that thousands of years ago they had the same trouble and there was always some joker bellyaching about this drinking business. My mate he say yes but he tell me we should take notice of the wise men.

I say “Well, who you say was a wise man?”

My mate he then say old Bluebeard was a wise man cause he had a whole lot of the wives but only one at the time.

I tell him I don't think this Bluebeard the wise man if he had the lot of wives cause every time he marry one had buy t the new mother in law as well. Also he would have all his wives sisters and other hangers on who would pinch the crayfish which he had hid in the fridge for tomorrows lunch and old Bluebeard had the plenty trouble also to stop all his brothers in law from ratting the cupboard for the small drop of plonk which he kept for the toothache and other things.

Then I think bout the very early days even before Bluebeard when they did not have the pub or the half-Gallon jar of beer but only the plonk which we're going to have in the ten restaurants in the New Zealand soon. On those times, I tell my mate, just to show him I know plenty, the jokers carried their plonk around in the goatskin cause they have no half-Gallon jar or the bottle.

This goatskin, I tell him hold three or four gallons and weigh plenty.

When a joker carry it a few miles across a desert to see his mates and have the party he get plurry tired and stop now and then to have the drink out of the goatskin so he have not so much weight to carry around and this plonk have the real kick alright and soon the coot get very hoopsy-coopsy.

I think it the good thing to have the waipiro in the restaurant cause when a joker have plenty to eat the booze don't knock him about so much. Hundreds of years ago that poet fellow Omar Khayyam, he think the same thing. When he take the girlfriend out for the picnic under the bough of the tree he always take the half jar of wine, but he also take along the loaf of bread so the plonk will not put them on their ear.

But enough about the booze. The Maori more worried about the way the pakehas are mucking about all the world. That Krushen salt joker taking off the boot and banging it on the table and arguing the toss about this and that. Then Eisenhower getting the pricker and not making the apology. Then they both start shooting rockets and sputniks and things up to the moon. The Maori can't understand.

What good all this business is for, cause the pakeha can't fix the pakeha can't fix all the bellyaches and troubles on the earth so why he want to plays around in the space for?

Next thing I hear is that they're going to send a man in one of these things up to the moon.

Bout the only useful korero he might bring back is to tell us who keep the pub up there now and do they sell the plonk or the beer in the restaurants.

A few weeks ago I am under the house trying to get a spell away from the missus and the mother in law, and have just pulled the cork from the half-Gallon jar when a pakeha joker from up the road blows in to pass the time of day and talk about this and that and one thing and another. This pakeha always seems to come along just when I have opened a new jar.

I tell him that the beer is not very cool and as it is a hot day he had better have some iced water.

He says that water is all right for putting around ships or using for hydro-electric works, but the only time he drinks it is when it is mixed with gin or whiskey or some other plonk like that. He says that he can put up with the beer being warm cause he only wants to drink for the good fellowship and that sort of hooey.

After he has had a few pots he says to me like this: “Say, Hori. What about you driving me to the races on Saturday 'cause I can get the good oil from a mate of mine?”

I tell him that I don't need the oil since the old V8 has had the rebore.

He say, “Crikey, I don't mean that sort of oil. What I mean is the dinkum oil, the straight griffin and the low down about the horses.

I say I don't know much about this new korero but if he can put me onto a winner I will give it a go.

The mother in law she say I had better stay at home and do the garden but if I go I must shout her ten bob each way on no. 7 in the big race. We get to the races and I feel very thirsty after the long drive in the old car, so I say I would like a drink. Well, we find the bar and, py korry, I never see such a lot of old barmen – they all about 80 years old and take about 20 minutes to serve a beer. We ask for a beer and an old chap gives us one of those medicine glasses about three-quarters full and he charges us sixpence a throw.

Py Korry, I reckon at this price the half gallon jar would cost about ten quid.

We we go and have a look at the horses and I pick out one that looks good to me. His number is No. 5, so I tell my pakeha friend that I will put the ten bob each way on this prad.

He says, “Don't be the plurry fool. Wait until I get the drum.”

I say, “What's this drum business?”

He says “It's the same as the oil, the griffin and the low down”

At last we find this coot who is going to give us this drum business. He is a skinny pakeha who looks like he has been living on bird seed for a long time. He talks out of the side of his mouth and wears his hat on the back of his head. This bloke says to us to wait at the bottom of the Members Stand while he goes and sees the heads. After a while he comes back with two very fat pakehas They are smoking the big cigars and wearing the binoculars on the belly.

The skinny joker who talks out the side of his mouth says that these gentlemen would like a drinks, so we all go to the bar again.

The side of the mouth coot says for me to touch the pants first , so I say, “OK five beers please”

They all say, “Not on your plurry life” and they order the double whiskey and the double vodka and tomato juice. They tell me to have the square gin with a schnapps as a chaser. Py korry, the only difference between schnapps and square gin is that on tastes like gear oil and the other tastes like used gear oil.

All this sets me back about a quid, and I don't feel too happy cause I want that quid to put on the no. 5 horse. I tell one of these fat blokes that I like this no 5 horse and he takes the skinny bloke to one side and they have a korero.

The big joker says to me “Where you get the drum?”

I say that I not get any drum, I only like the look of that horse.

The big joker say to me. “Listen mate, that horse has got no show. He is dead”

I say, “he is not dead. I can see him now and he looks very much alive”

He then say, “I don't mean he is dead that way, but he is not a jigger. He is going to be hooked, pulled and run into the ground.”

Py korry, I think this fat bloke must know something I then ask this big pakeha how he know all about this horse.

“Brother” he says “I own that horse and I have told the jockey not to knock him about”

“Hori: he says, “you had better be on no. 10 instead”

I think to myself py korry, this coot must know something alright, so I take his advice and back no. 10. Stiffen the crows, this no.10 dead heats for ninth and the no. 5 wins and pays a tenner to win and the price of several half-Gallon jars for a place. Py korry, this big joker he very angry and say he will report the jockey to the stewards for not obeying instructions. I tell all these pakeha blokes that I have to put the ten bob each way on No 7 in the next race for my mother in law.

The big joker say “What does she know? So I tell him she know everything.

“Well” he says, “she don't know that last night this horse ate his bedding and has got the bellyache”

I say to him to let me have a look at this horse through his binoculars, but he tells me that I can't see through these glasses cause they are full of cigar ash and he only wears them on the belly to stop the ash from getting on his clothes.

It is more than my life's worth no to do as my mother in law says, so I tell him I must back no.7

Mr side of the mouth he say “Alright Hori give me the money cause the tote is nearly closed and I'll run and put it on for you”

This coot he don't come back, so we go and have a look at the race. Py korry, my mother in law she know something alright. This No. 7 he wins and pays 50 smackers for the win and ten quid for the place. I am very pleased caused this will put me on side with the wifes mother for a long time. I wait until after the last race but I can't find that joker with my money.

When I get home I find that the mother in law has been earwigging to the races on the noise box and she comes running out to meet me to get her winnings.

I tell her all about what happened.

For once in her life she don't earbash me. But just crowns me with the lid of the pressure cooker.

When I get the stitches out I think I will do the garden on Saturdays.

Will anyone who sees a skinny bloke who talks out of the side of his mouth and wears the hat at the back of his head, please let me know.

Friday, 26 August 2011

Py, Korry, I'm glad this Christmas business is over. I have never worked so hard as when I take the old V8 to town to do the Christmas hopping.

What with finding a place to park and mustering the kids, I have just about had it.

I tell you what, I would rather cut up a three-ply tea chest for kindling with a blunt tommyhawk than go through it again.

It's easy enough to choose a Christmas box for the missus 'cause our washing machine and fridge is always out of date, so I blow into one of these places where the salesmen are dressed better than Mr Holyoake and tell him to send out the latest and I'll pay him in two years time.

The kids are easy, too – I get them the usual things which you put in the dustbin in about two weeks time if they are not chopped to pieces under the lawnmower before that.

The wife’s sister is a sitter for the stiletto shoes, which is not so bad, as I always use the heals to spear the flattie when she gets tired of them.

The mother in law is a problem 'cause she is always taking umbrage and doesn't drink, smoke or chew. Spare me days yous can't buy her a packet of umbrage for Christmas so I get her a book called “How To Make Friends Without Earbashing Them”

The wifes brother is an easy one- as easy as pulling puha out of wet ground. I just tell him to go on helping himself to my beer, mussels and pigs' trotters as usual all the year round.

Py korry, this joker has got the cost of living down to a fine art, and is always talking about the Welfare State. Spare me days, it is the welfare state for him alright. I have never seen a coot do so little for so much, as Sir Winston Churchill once said.

Well, I get a Christmas box myself. The missus presents me with a pipe. She says that I look more dignified with a pipe and that all the best pakeha jokers smoke them. This means more expense for me 'cause I have to but a coat. A joker can't carry all the equipment to smoke the pipe in a pair of shorts and a singlet.

I next make a study of these pipe smoking coots and py korry, there is a lot to learn. The main thing is to look very wise while you are filling the pipe from the tobacco pouch after spilling a good amount on the floor. You then look round to make sure that you have a good lot of people to watch you get this plurry thing into action. Your next job is to either tell a funny story or start the korero about world affairs. After you get cracking you strike a match and hold it about two inches away from your pipe

You must keep on talking all the time while the match is burning. In the meantime all the people are laying the odds as to whether you will light the plurry thing before you burn your fingers.

These coots always lose, cause you always get there by the photo finish, but only for a short time; then you start the whole business over again. Well I learn all about how to get a license for this pipe smoking and go down to the pub to have a few pots with the boys.

I have not been there long when a pakeha coot chirps up and argues the toss.

“Look here” I say “You pipe down and listen to me”

I then give him a good poke in the puku with the stem of my pipe “The point I want to make is this” I says and then push my pipe along the bar stem first and tell the barman to keep the counter more clean.

“As for you” I says to some joker “you don't know what you're talking about” and I give my pipe a flick and splash him with the stuff that kills the bugs on roses.

Then I bend down and tap the pipe on the heal of my shoe, then put it in my mouth and blow hard until it makes a noise like a night club artists or a suckling pig squealing. I tap it on the palm of my hand, point it at people, rap it on the counter, and do everything but smoke it. By this time everybody is sitting up and taking notice.

”Py korry” they say “we have never seen Hori look so important” and they ask me to stand for Parliament.

I tell them that I am used to hard work and that if they are looking for a coot to hold down a soft job then they had better see the wifes brother.

After I get home that night I think I'll give the pipe the rebore so I get out all the tools and the pipe cleaners and a little gadget about the size of an acorn that looks like a baby hedgehog with spikes all over it. I make a pretty good job of this reconditioning business, refuel the pipe and settle down for a quiet smoke. After a while one of the kids says that the kitchen sink is blocked up again and is going “gurgle gurgle”

The mother in law says “That's not the sink, it's your father with that confounded pipe and Hori” she says “I wish you'd be more careful with your pipe. There's tobacco all over the floor and the vacuum cleaner is all blocked up with the plurry stuff and your bedroom smells like an old mens home. And furthermore, don't point that plurry thing at me, it might be loaded.”

Py korry, it's a funny thing how one little thing can upset a whole weekend. Last Friday I forgot to buy the meat. Well, you'd think the world had come to an end. The mother in law she say to me like this:

”Well, Hori what did you bring home in the way of meat for the weekend?”

“Spare me days” I tell her, “I got busy talking to a pakeha joker in the pub about this and that and one and another and forgot all about the meat”

Well, the Hon Mabel Howard is only in the primers compared with the mother in law when it comes to the speech making.

She opens up on me and her bottom jaw does about 500 revs to the minute.

“I notice” she barks “that you didn't forget to bring home a couple of half-gallons of beer”

“Well” she goes on, “we have to eat dinner on Saturday night so you had better take us to some restaurant in the city.””

We leave the kids at home with a few meat pies and some pigs trotters and set off in the old V8 for town. I find one of those eating places and take the missus and her mother into this joint. When I go in I think there must be a power cut or something' cause the place is in half darkness. There are a lot of candles about, stuck in bottles with the candle grease plastered all down the sides. Py korry, I don't see this since I stayed at my uncle's farm at the Great Barrier Island in 1948.

A joker comes along and says “Good evening, saire. Have you booked a table?”

I say “No mate but we are hungry and want the good feed”

This coot says “Alright, just sit here and I will see that you get attention”

Then he claps his hands and a joker comes along with black patent leather hair and a white towel over his arm.

This chap bows so low I think his head will touch the floor and he says like this “It is a pleasure to have you with us. What can we do for you?”

I say “Fish and chips for three with a few mussels and some crayfish claws on the side.”

Well this waiter joker gives me a look and pulls a face as if he had just taken a bite out of a green tree tomato.

“We only serve fish as an entree” he says

“Ok” I tell him “bring us some of that”

Then he says. “Don't you want to see the menu?” and he brings along a piece of cardboard a bit bigger than a time sheet but smaller than a ship's manifest.

While we wait for the fish a pakeha girl comes along with a basketful of little round buns as big as a ball on a trailer couples, but harder, which she takes out of the basket with a pair of tongs. By this time the waiter with the patent leather hair has brought us our fish.

Well, fair dinkum, you wouldn't read about it. This entree fish is about the size of a packet of razor blades and, py korry, we're all very hungry. We can't read what is on this menu thing 'cause is all written in some strange language so I point to one item and say “well have some of that”

This waiter coot gives me another our look and says that is the name of the piece the band is playing – a joke as old as I am.

“Well” I say “ that rattling noise you can hear is the mother in law's ribs knocking together, so bring us some tucker to keep them apart.;”

We then order some steak and eggs. While this is coming up I go out to the old V8 and bring in the good old half-Gallon jar. Well did this cause the big trouble!

They did everything except call out the fire brigade. The boss man waves his arms about and has the loud korero with the waiter and the girl drops the basket of buns and the tongs.

“Take that thing out of here quick” says the boss “or we will all lose our chance of getting a license for the plonk in about three years time”

Well at last we get the steak and eggs, so after we finish I ask for the bill. The waiter joker says “That will be 27 bob each, plus a cover charge for the band of 7/6 each making a total of £5 3/6.”

The mother in law starts to argue the toss about the prices, but he says all the prices are on the menu. But we can't understand the writing on this thing.

We go out of that place smartly and on our way home we stop at the pie cart and have a feed of pies and peas. When I get home I go under the house 'cause I know I left a couple of dozen mussels under a wet sack there, but py korry, they've all gone. The wife's brother has clouted on them while we are away, so I go to bed hungry

Just before I leave for work this Friday the mother in law comes to me with a piece of strings and says “Hori, tie this on your finger to remind you to get the meat”

[For those of us who are not well versed in New Zealand politics in general and of the 60's in particular. I have included links to the relevent Wikipedia articles down the bottom]

Py Korry, I listen to the radio to hear those pakeha M.P Jokers making the korero from Wellington. Tell you what, I think it more better than listening to the wrestling or the football. I think it will be even more better when it get near the elections, and better still when we get the televisions so we can see these MP fellas in action. The other night they all have a fair go and make the korero all night until four o'clock in the morning.

Some of the members they not feel very well, 'cause some have the flu and some have the belly ache, and one have the ulcer on the leg. All these jokers say they rather stay in bed 'cause they all feel so crook. Mr Holyoake say that he think it more better if these sick fellas go home to bed. Mr Nash he say not on your plurry life, and he send a member out to Bellamys (that's the pub in parliament House) to round up all the sick jokers with the whip.

In the Bellamys you can't buy the half -gallon jar but only the small bottle of the lager and the whiskey. Mr Nash think it the good idea if one of his members sick that Mr Holyoake send one of his men out to the Bellamys too. I think this the good idea, then they can have a drink together and make friends and not argue the toss about the Nelson railway, 'cause neither of them would care much about it anyway once they were in the Bellamys. After a while all the members they very tired and lose the temper and say the bad things about each other.

Mr Speaker, he the referee, but he not blow the whistle but he call out “Order! Order!” when he thinks someone not get the fair go. When Mr Speaker hears a member call a joker a plurry liar he stops the whole show and he says, “No Ho. Gentle-man can use this talk” and he makes the joker withdraw their bad words.

The member then he say:”OK Mr speaker, the Hon. Gentleman he not the plurry liar but he convert the truth to his own use.”

Mr Speaker not give the penalty this time but gives the warning and sort of orders the set scrum to go down.

After a while up gets the Hon. Mabel Howard to make the korero. She the minister for the bobby calf. She no sooner starts to get cracking when some National joker make the interject.

I don't think this National chap been in the parliament for very long 'cause he don't know how good this Mabel Howard is when she gets into action.

She say:” Mr Speaker, I came into this house to my the speech and I know my rights. I am not going to be stopped by the Hon. Gentleman on the other side of the house”

Py korry, she declare the open season for this joker and give him both barrels. All the Labour jokers say “Hear hear” and a lot of the National members say “Hear hear” and everybody clap 'cause they know that the Mabel Howard is the wahine minister and all wahines have the last word anyway.

Mr Nordmeyer he not say very much on this night 'cause he the very tired man after he make the Budget. Mr Nash tell him to take it easy for a while' cause he want him to sort of play front row for Labour in the big test in November. Mr Nash he the only man not tired cause he used to sitting up all night in the airplane all over the world. Py korry, that Walter Nash he the great stayer alright, just like the Lochgair in the Northern. That Holyoake chap he not the bad joker either. More better I think if he were the single man cause he would get all the wahine votes. He the good looking joker.

I feel sorry for that Mr Speaker. He got the hard job in the house cause when all the other members go tot he Bellamy to have the quick one he have to stay in the chair to say the “Order! Order!”

Another man in the House is a joker by the name of Hansard. He is the kind of line umpire to help Mr Speaker. This feller is not on the inside of the house but both Mr Nash and Mr Holyoake are always saying: “Lets go and see Hansard”

Hansard I think lives out in the Bellamys and keeps a record of what the members say away back to the Dark Ages. Anyway he not in the House proper otherwise we would hear him on the radio.

If Mr Hansard live out in the Bellamys, py korry, I think he got the best job in the House of Parliament.

Sir Keith Jacka Holyoake, KG, GCMG, CH, QSO, KStJ (11 February 1904 – 8 December 1983) was a New Zealand politician. The only person to have been both Prime Minister and Governor-General of New Zealand,[1] Holyoake was National Party Prime Minister from 20 September 1957 to 12 December 1957, then again from 12 December 1960 to 7 February 1972. He was appointed as Governor-General in 1977 and served until 1980.

Holyoake is to date the third longest serving New Zealand Prime Minister (just under 12 years), surpassed only by Richard Seddon's 13 years and William Massey's close to 13 years; he was also the first to be born in the 20th century.[2] He was known for his diplomatic style and "plummy" voice. He was also fondly (or mockingly) known as Kiwi Keith, a name given to him in childhood to distinguish him from an Australian child with the same name.[2]

Sir Walter Nash, GCMG, CH (12 February 1882 – 4 June 1968) served as the 27th Prime Minister of the Second Labour Government of New Zealand from 1957 to 1960 and was also highly influential in his role as Minister of Finance. He is noted for his long period of service, having been associated with the Labour Party since its creation.

Mabel Bowden Howard (18 April 1894 – 23 June 1972) was a well-known New Zealand trade unionist and politician. She was the first woman secretary of a male union (the Canterbury General Labourers’ Union).

She was a Member of Parliament for the Labour Party from 1943 until 1969. In 1947 she became New Zealand's first woman cabinet minister when she was made Minister of Health and Minister in charge of Child Welfare.

She is remembered for waving two large pairs of bloomers in parliament in support of her successful campaign to have clothing sizes standardised.

Bobbys:

Bobby calves are young calves which are to be slaughtered for human consumption

The New Zealand National Party (Māori: Rōpū Nāhinara, "National" or "the Nats") currently is the largest party in the New Zealand House of Representatives and in November 2008 formed a minority government with support from three minor parties.

The New Zealand Labour Party (Māori: Rōpū Reipa o Aotearoa) is a New Zealand political party. It describes itself as centre-left[1] and socially progressive[2] and has been one of the two primary parties of New Zealand politics since 1935.

After defeat in the 2008 elections, the Labour party forms the second-largest (in terms of parliamentary seats) political party represented in the New Zealand Parliament, and functions as the core of the Official Parliamentary Opposition.

On 8 November 2008, former leader Helen Clark announced she was stepping down as leader, saying a new leader was expected to be named by Christmas.[3] Her Deputy Michael Cullen followed her the next day.[4] On 11 November 2008 the parliamentary party caucus chose Phil Goff and Annette King to replace Clark and Cullen respectively.[5]

Sir Arnold Henry Nordmeyer, ONZ, KCMG (7 February 1901 – 2 February 1989), born Heinrich Arnold Nordmeyer, was a New Zealand politician. He was leader of the Labour Party for three years while it was in Opposition.

Lochgair:

A racing horse

Hansard:

New Zealand Parliamentary Debates (Hansard) is the edited report of the proceedings of the House.

Saturday, 20 August 2011

An interesting thing I've noticed about writing is that there is a sheer amount of research that goes into it. Lately I've found myself needing to search for more and more exotic subjects that, on their own, have little or nothing to do with the story but without them the world is flat.

Nothing interesting ever happened on a flat world.

What prompted this post was the fact that I suddenly needed to know how a world with one sun and two moons would operate celestially speaking and what elephant it would have on the world.

In the book itself the issue is a big one as before the Great Change there was only the one moon in the sky. My research took me into Astrology, Astronomy (1) and into Newtonian physics.

It was at this point that I went back to the the comics about Laika the Russian space dog and started claiming that it since it was the will of the Gods then they could sort it out (2)

The other problem that I had was the religion of Kalagrim, that green and verdant land in which Harts Change (3) is set:

Because they were a slave country to the Great Southern Empire the people were not permitted to worship their own Gods or the Empires which left them at a bit of a loose end, theologically speaking.

So I decided that they would snatch what they could from the big boys table and hope for the best.(4)

For the base of it all I pinched a lot of theology from the Aztec's and the Egyptians, threw in a touch of voodoo and a large load of bull mixed it all together and let it settle for a while.

The book takes place around 90 years since the slave uprising, great grandfathers might just remember their grandfathers talking about it, that won their freedom and Kalagrim now has a nice functioning religion of its very own. You can still see large chunks of the Empires teachings but these are slowly fading away.

An example:

I decided that everyone in the empire would wear a mask. I haven't had to justify this yet because the Empire doesn't enter into the picture until Book 2: Harts Blood.

People that don't wear masks are slaves, criminals or traitors or, gasp! Foreigners.

In marriage they have a crocodile, the symbol of long life, painted on their mask which they leave on until it fades away.

But since the slaves of Kalagrim were unable to have masks they took to tattooing the sacred crocodile across their hearts. Over time the actual design of the tattoo grew until the tail started at the heart, the body wrapped around the neck and the crocodiles mouth married up with their own. (5)

Now so far the Kalagrim Church was relatively benign but I decided that I wanted them to have a darker side. A lot of it steming from the natural resentment that they aren't the ones running the country when they totally should but due to ancient law that is, quite literally, written in stone, no priest can hold the seat of the Barons or the king. (6)

Then it occurred to me that I had all these bodies just lying around (7) and I had no graveyards at all and the only reference had been the priests “Going down to the waters” which I had left intentionally vague at the time because back in that draft the church simply wasn't going to be all that important (8)

So I've taken the easy way out and turned the Church into cannibals and not the good kind either.

Over in the Empire they know how to do it properly since they invented it, for reasons I don't get paid enough to speculate about, The body is prepared for their journey to the next world and as they do so they take a small piece of the heart and the brain which is shared amongst the family in a private ceremony after much ritual fasting.

But in Kalagrim the ritual for dealing with the dead is slightly different:

1: The names of the dead are entered into the book and brought to the high priest. The books are burnt and the ashes are sprinkled over the holy waters in the temple itself.

2: Corpses are tightly wrapped in honeyed bandages and taken by the priests down to the waters. This is a secret area which is guarded jealously by the priesthood and exactly what they do with the bodies is unknown to anybody who isn't a priest.

3: The bodies are consecrated and butchered with the choicest parts going to the Holy animals. The rest is eaten by the priests attending and this is the major secret that every priest holds close to his heart at all times.

4: The remains are interred in a huge ossary that was originally an old silver mine before cave ins buried all traces of it. It has been widened and made stronger, the bones are ground into dust and mixed with the inks that are used for the tattoos of marriage and also integrated into the parchments and paper that is spread around the country.

Notes:

Once I learned the difference between the two!

Bonus points if you can find the fatal flaw in this argument.

As it is currently known.

No lightening so far. Fingers crossed everybody

Lets see De Beers match this!

This came about because in the days of Imperial rule those priests that were sent to Kalagrim were being punished and many of those priests stood firm with the overseers during the uprising. Because of this ancient law the more ambitious members of the priesthood have had to be content with being a power behind the throne but those in that position never last long. No because they are not suited for the role but rather because the type of person that aspires to this is always going to have at least three enemies that they know of and, to their misfortune, one that that they don't.

A sentence that I'm sure has suddenly made me the subject of more than a few watchlists. But on the plus side Hello new followers!

Monday, 15 August 2011

A few weeks ago I'm sitting on a three-ply tea chest which some enemy had left at my place for kindling. I'm thinking about all thee jobs I have to do around the place,, such as dealing with the twitch and oxalis, to say nothing of the blackberry and honeysuckle which creeps on to my section from the rich pakeha coot's place at the back of the section.

I get to thinking about this and that and one thing and another and say to myself, “Is it worth it?”

More better, I think, to pay rent and let the plurry landlord keep the place in order.

To make matters worse I get to thinking about all the dough I have to find during the few weeks for rates and interest and things like that.

In this mood I don't want any problems other than getting the cork out of the half-gallon jar.

Just then the wife's mother comes up to me and says like this:

“Hori, the driveway is a disgrace to the street and the weeds are are growing up through the old bitumen. I think it's about time you put it down in concrete.”

“Spare me days, “ I tell her, “I have just been nutting it out how I'm going to pay all my bills and you come across with a new on one just about the 50 quid touch.”

“Tut, tut” she says “you must not talk like that. Don't you read the papers about all this 'Do it yourself' business?

“Look at me, “ she bleats, “I used to spend a lot of money on the perm wave but now I do it myself.”

Crikey, she does not have to call for tenders to get her hair trimmed!

It's all done up with paper clips and pipe cleaners and looks like Topsy in the book I used to read when I was a was a kid. Mind you, she is not the full blooded Maori, otherwise she would have to get the motor-mower to keep the hair in order!
Anyway I decide to give this plurry concrete drive a go and order all the shingle and cement to arrive on the Saturday morning.

When the stuff is on the job a pakeha joker with horn rimmed glasses stops outside my and says “I take it, sir, that you are about to lay a concrete drive. What, may I ask, is the mixture you intend to put down?”

“Six to to one,“ I tell him, which is better than you get when you back the plurry racehorses.

“Ridiculous, My man,”” he barks. “Just a pure waste of cement. Eight to one is plenty.”

Another pakeha walks past a bit later and asks me what mixture I am going too use, and when I tell him he says: “Not strong enough. It will never hold. You had better use four to one”

Next morning the first pakeha arrives and says he will give me a hand.

“What will you do?” I ask, and he says he will do the tamping.

He gets a box to sit on and takes a stick, then when I pour the concrete he mucks about with it and seems to be enjoying himself.

The other pakeha then arrives and tells me that he will be only too pleased to supervise the job.

“I thanks” I say. “Take the easy chair, “ and I produce another box with a sack on it.

After a couple of hours these coots' wives arrive to see that they are not getting into trouble.

All this time the mother in law and the missus are working double shifts making tea, scones and cakes for these people. After a while who should I see coming down the road but the wife's brother.

“Pardon me, folks” I say and I get under the house smartly and put my six pigs trotters and crayfish claws in a kerosene tin and mark it “Weedkiller”

I ask this brother in law if he will give me a hand. “Sure he tells me. “Where is the beer so I can help these good people?” Stiffen the crows, this coot couldn't work in an iron lung.

Well, I seem to be the only joker who is doing any work. This do it yourself racket is right and am I doing it myself!

Everybody is inside putting scones, cakes and tea where the flies can't get them, and the women are having a great time time.

Up till now I have not produced any drink stronger than tea 'cause I'm keeping a couple of half-gallon jars for Sunday morning. Do you know what? That brother in law of mine holds the floor and tells these people that I am very grateful for all the good advice I have received from these pakehas and opens a jar to give them one for the road.

That night the wife's sister arrives and says “Well Hori, it was about time you fixed that drive up with concrete. It looks super duper”

She then runs up and down it with the stiletto-heeled shoes. Well, spare me days, you should have a bo-peep at it now.

It looks like a North Auckland beach after the opening of the toheroa season.

Next morning I'm sitting at the bottom of the section opening a sugar bag of pipis which a friend of mine gave me when my small boy comes along and says “Dad, what are you doing?”

“Look, son,” I tell him. “I'm opening pipis and you can tell your mother, and your granny and all the pakeha coots from up the road that I don't want the job supervised cause this is one job where I can do it myself.”